Lord of The Mysterious Realms Chapter 880

The duke pointed a finger at the middle-aged man struggling atop the pile of rubbish, his expression still dazed and unfocused.

"You had a chance encounter with this man this morning, after which he lost his job. In his utter despair, he saw you consoling him with a bouquet of flowers, and then he jumped off a bridge. Under that bridge, he found a strange object. When he ran into you again by the carriage, he learned of your identity from the meddlesome driver. He returned home only to be scorned by his wife. As he was leaving with the object he'd found, he saw you emerging from the mansion of a high noble. Jealousy and grief clouded his mind, and the fragment of an evil god's altar he now possessed took advantage of his weakness to seize control of his will.

In about three more minutes, this man will complete his 'final oceanic transformation.' You're finished, Williamette. If I were to kill you myself, the Sage Church would stop at nothing to find the culprit. But if you die at the hands of a 'follower of an evil god,' no one will question a thing..."

He rattled off the long, bizarre speech in a single breath, but he saw no surprise or unease on Jenkins's face—only confusion.

"'Final oceanic transformation'... that sounds like the evil god, the Abyss of the Sea. So that's what this is. Can you control fate?"

"No, this is merely a stage of my own design... What do you mean?"

The duke finally realized that the writer before him was far too calm. He signaled for his bodyguards to surround him as he began to back away, one step at a time.

"What I mean is, you shouldn't have shown up when I'm already dealing with other problems. I'm furious right now."

"I don't care what ridiculous reason you have for targeting me, but I hope you understand you've chosen a very poor time to do it."

An Enchanter's intuition screamed at the duke that something was wrong. He couldn't wait for the middle-aged man to fully transform; he ordered them to open fire immediately.

Had it been a surprise attack, Jenkins certainly couldn't have dodged the bullets. But he was prepared. Before the first shot even rang out, he was already scrambling nimbly up a drainpipe to the roof of a nearby building.

Dozens of bullets tore through the alley, shredding the brick and plaster. The flower Jenkins had tucked into a crack in the pipe was hit, its perforated petals fluttering down to the ground one by one.

"You're an Enchanter too?"

Jenkins called out as he leaped down from above. He didn't need to reveal all his secrets just to deal with a group of ordinary men and a low-level Enchanter. As he descended, a fist radiating a chilling frost swung directly for the duke.

It all happened too fast. Before the bodyguards could fire a second volley, Jenkins's fist had already connected, knocking out half the duke's teeth and coating one side of his face in a layer of frost.

He struggled, grabbing his own bodyguards and shoving them toward Jenkins, all his earlier arrogance gone. Seeing Jenkins decimate his guards with sheer physical skill, he fumbled in his coat, pulled out a bone pendant, and threw it to the ground before turning to flee without a second glance.

His expensive suit was stained with mud, his neat hair was a mess, his nose was broken, and his face was a mask of filth and blood. Today's events would likely serve as a lesson he would never forget.

"What a pity. He actually got away."

It wasn't that Jenkins didn't want to give chase. The bone pendant, left behind to cover the duke's retreat, began to emit sourceless whispers and murmurs. It mixed with the foul dirt, the dust, and a nearby bodyguard, coalescing into a humanoid skeleton that stood at least ten feet tall.

Malevolent spirits coiled around its frame, and blasphemous runes were carved into its sternum. An aura of darkness and death radiated from the undead creature, slowly corrupting the ground around it. An indescribable sense of loneliness and desolation filled the hearts of the ordinary people still in the vicinity.

"But at least I have more than enough evidence to prove that Duke Antak is connected to Scr¨ü Pomphey. He's finished... Then again, why do I even need evidence to report him? If I just provide the information to the Church, it's not like anyone would doubt me."

He shook his head at the thought and extended his right hand. A blade forged from elemental fire materialized in his grasp. A fine, transparent stream of ice-cold water coiled around the flames, climbing toward the tip. The two opposing elements existed in a state of unnatural harmony in his hand.

The flames, encased in water, looked strangely bewitching. Jenkins could feel its contained, razor-sharp power.

On a street wide enough for carriages, there would always be pedestrians, no matter how bad the weather. Jenkins could already hear shrieks from nearby, and he knew the Church would be here any moment.

"Causing this kind of trouble on my very first day back in Nolan... Pops is definitely going to be angry."

As the thought crossed his mind, he dashed forward, swinging the energy blade. Water and fire crashed against bone, neither side giving an inch.

The undead creature's arm blocked the sword, but Jenkins refused to back down. The two were locked in a contest of pure strength. As time passed, scorched black marks began to appear on the yellowed bone.

"I may not have the professor's power to shatter bone armor, but a method works just as well." Tʜe source of this ᴄontent ɪs novel✶fire.net

Against Scr¨ü Pomphey's bone armor, Jenkins planned to use this energy sword; against the soul storm surrounding the Skull Sword, he would use the Fantasy Flower. He felt he was discovering the path to victory, step by step. He firmly believed that he, representing justice, would surely defeat the evil necromancer.

"Yes, I'm on the side of justice!"

To convince himself he was righteous, the virtuous writer emphasized the point again in his mind, and sure enough, he felt a little better.

"Die, you damned undead!"

He shouted aloud, pressing down with even more force. The fearsome undead creature matched his strength, and at the same time, a red light suddenly flared in its eye sockets.

"A Soul-Reaping Spell?"

This was an innate ability of high-level undead, capable of damaging or even destroying a living creature's soul through eye contact.

However, the being meeting the undead's gaze could not exactly be considered human. After the terrifying light faded, Jenkins felt the force opposing him suddenly weaken.

A smile played on his lips as he pressed the blade of fire and water down with greater force, yet he didn't press his advantage to destroy his opponent just yet.

From his tightly-cuffed sleeve, a brownish-yellow vine slowly snaked its way up his fair, strong arm. It wrapped around the energy blade in his hand, giving it a true, physical form.

Jenkins had hidden a seed in his sleeve long ago, just waiting for an opportunity. Inspired by the idea of sealing the undead with plants, he was eager to try out his newly created technique.